Contemporaneous Domesticity
by WatchOutThatBowtie
Summary: Human!AU. A series of one-shots detailing the domestic life of Doctor John Smith and his unpredictable, curly-haired wife, River Song. Each story takes place at a different point in history, from times such as the Great War to the time the Doctor broke the Wii.
1. 1917

**1917**

* * *

_Dear Mrs. Song,_

_We regret to inform you that your husband, Doctor John Smith of the XVIII Corps, has been classified as 'missing in action' after the Battle of __Langemarck __on the 17__th__ August, 1917._

_Yours sincerely,  
Captain Jack Harkness, XVIII Corps._

The letter had arrived over a month ago.

On that terrible morning, River had - as per the normal routine -woken up and dressed briskly, preparing for work at the Museum.

When John had departed to Belgium, River had acquired a job as a way of passing the long hours that were no longer filled with her impossible husband. Like countless other organisations, the Museum had lost hundreds of employees with the onset of the war; she'd stepped in to take care of the national treasures that, if left unattended, would deteriorate and crumble away. It was painstaking work, restoring and fiddling with such ancient artifacts, but she adored it. The cavernous restoration room, with its huge circular marble floor and walls of books stretching all the way to the domed ceiling, was one of her favourite locations in the city.

Her two other colleagues were also a pleasure; both women, they too had taken the places of men whom had departed for the battlefield. Anita was a sharp, amusing woman, dedicated to her restoration work and while Evangelista had at first seemed a little dense, she proved kind and gifted; she had an incredibly steady hand that became so renowned with the other two that they would hand her the smaller artifacts without a second thought. They were both lovely people and often the three of them would have dinner together, joking about their employer, the senior Lux, debating the finer points of ancient mythology and relieving some of the stress the war had brought. These dinners weren't much, but they helped fill the space River felt since John had left, even if it was only temporary.

But the thing River loved most of all about her work was the history she immersed herself in. The artifacts that depicted days already gone and stories of civilisations that would never again walk the earth struck a profound chord within her. To her, there was nothing better than piecing the puzzle of the ages back together, slotting all the shards of mirror back into place until they formed a fragile picture of the past.

But now, she hadn't been to work in over six weeks.

Instead, she'd stayed at home, on her own. She had no desire to face the others, for as welcome as their company might have been, their pity was not. She didn't want to look into their faces and be reminded of everything she had lost.

…

"_You'll be careful, won't you?" she asked him, staring into his face, trying to memorize all the angles and lines before he boarded the boat and vanished into the throes of war._

"_Of course I will, dear. Don't worry about me," he replied, grinning that cheeky grin she loved so much it made her heart ache at the thought of it disappearing._

"_Of course I'll worry about you, honey. I love you," she said, bringing one hand up to his face to cup it lightly._

"_Of course you do," he laughed at her, taking her hand from his face and kissing the knuckles gently before leaning forward and whispering in her ear. "I love you, too."_

_She smiled up at him even as her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. This was the last time she would see him for weeks, months … perhaps even-_

_No. She wouldn't allow herself to think like that. He would return to her._

_But a trace of her thoughts must have shown briefly in her face, for he suddenly scooped her up in his arms, holding her tightly and breathing in her scent._

"_Hey, I always come back," he reminded her, one hand rubbing lightly up and down her back. "Always," he promised softly, murmuring into her curly hair._

"_You better," she said, pulling back once more, her voice an odd mix of serious, teasing and sensitive._

"_I will. Trust me, I'm the Doctor."_

_She smiled at that as from the ship's deck, a whistle sounded, shrill note blasting though the crisp morning air. He shouldered his bag and gave her one light, lingering kiss on the cheek before turning and walking towards the boarding area. She watched his uniformed back move further and further away from her, his long gangly legs transporting him briskly towards the boat, and a rapid twang shot right through her chest. Suddenly, she could stand it no longer._

"_John!"_

_He turned quickly, surprised by his wife, who was rapidly running towards him, skirt and coat flying out behind her as she wove her way through the few people who had come between them. Then she reached him and seized him a final time, pressing her lips to his in one last, loving kiss. He responded in kind, hands wrapping tightly around her waist as her own arms folded around his neck, locking him into place, refusing to let him go. _

_They broke apart after what felt like both years and seconds later; he almost looked bewildered. "What was that for?"_

_River looked at him, knowing he already knew the answer, that both of them knew it. That neither of them wanted to say it. So instead she opted for a lighter approach. "Sucker for a man in uniform." He laughed at her wink, even though a tear threatened to fall at the side._

_By now, almost every man was on board the boat; reluctantly, John Smith extracted himself from his wife's arms and hoisted his bag higher on his back, squaring his shoulders. Then, with one final wave, he turned and boarded, vanishing into the crowd of soldiers already thronging around on the deck, leaving her standing alone on the shore._

"_Goodbye, sweetie."_

…

There were two epochs in River's head now; before the letter and after the letter. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't meld the two together again.

Before the letter, she'd been in a constant, unchanging state of worry, the lines on her forehead deepening with every passing day. But there had always been a deep-seated, unshakable faith sitting right next to her heart, lessening – though by no means dissipating - the incorrigible fear. She knew that her Doctor would stop at nothing, _nothing_, to return to her.

Or so she'd thought, until the day that skinny man with the large nose had walked up her front lawn and knocked on her door, carrying that awful brown slip of paper and the weight of the world with him.

As soon as she'd opened the door, she'd known. Something in the man's face had told her. She didn't even have to open the letter to know, but she did so anyway, tearing the paper, refusing to believe what she already knew was the truth until she saw it.

The spiky black handwriting had stared out at her, each pointed letter stabbing like a blade, twisting deeper and deeper. She'd had to lean on the doorframe for support, clutching the brown paper in her hand, her eyes burning at it even though she could no longer see the words through tears.

That began the post-letter term.

The letter-deliverer – Captain Rory Williams - was like a benevolent old soldier, despite his young age. Apparently, Rory had been pronounced dead one evening during a battle; arrangements had been made to send his body back to England as soon as possible, so it could be with his grieving widow and family. One of the other men had gotten a terrible shock the next day when he'd entered the morgue to find one Captain Williams sitting up and loudly requesting a large cup of tea. Given he had actually sustained quite serious injuries, coupled with the extremely strange circumstances, Rory had been granted leave from the Army. It was upon his return that he'd heard about John's fate.

He'd fought with John and had known him well, right down to the bowtie the mad man had insisted on wearing, to the notorious spouting of useless scientific facts at critical moments. It was Captain Williams who had asked to deliver the letter personally to River, as he had known John best and felt a duty towards his friend's wife. Rory's own wife, Amelia, had also been extraordinarily caring towards River after the news had been delivered; a naturally feisty and loyal person, she had gone to great lengths to ensure River was alright.

She wasn't, of course. She doubted she ever would be.

It was as if a gaping hole had been gouged through her chest, the edges raw and ragged, far too painful to touch. And while the occasional visit from Amy and Rory, and sometimes Anita and Evangelista, helped to gild the wound briefly, it was ubiquitous. And she knew it would never disappear.

Every morning it was there. When she woke up in the guest room (she no longer slept in their room, not wanting to wake and expect to find him there when he would never return) it stabbed anew, reminding her of its presence. In the evening, it did the same thing, not allowing her to sleep due to the intermittent jolts of pain. It was usually late at night when she remembered an event, or had a thought about him, or wanted to tell him something, and she vehemently hated the fact that she couldn't.

Sometimes she caught herself hoping he'd come back, not quite believing he was really dead. Those moments were always the worst, because invariable, unshakable reality would always come thundering down, pounding heavier on her heart every time.

So she threw herself into chores and housework, promising herself that eventually she would go back to the Museum, but only when she was ready to. Until then, she would clean and bake and attempt to bury the pain with so many distractions that it could never escape.

One morning she was hanging out the washing, corkscrew hair pinned into a bun (true to their nature, a few fickle curls still sprang out around her face) and a deep blue apron tied around her waist. The front lawn was big, giving her plenty of room to hang out the copious amounts of laundry in the rare summer sun. She was pinning up the washing with wooden pegs, obscuring the road from her view; the bed sheets were particularly large and could only fit on the line horizontally, meaning she couldn't see a thing apart from her house on the left and the neighbor's fence on her right. She made no noise while she worked; once, she would have sung or hummed quietly, but all the vivacity had gone from her voice, and it would have sounded dead and hollow even if she tried. Eventually, she reached the final sheet, which was pressed snugly into the bottom of the basket. Sighing, she bent to peel it from its sticking-place, careful not to catch it on the wicker, before straightening up tiredly.

Something flickered at the corner of her eye and she turned, expecting Amy to come careening around the corner, as was the red-head's custom. Instead, a sheet flapped back into place and River shook her head; she was getting jumpy. She reached out her arms, attepting to pin the crumpled sheet a second time, but again she could have sworn she saw another flutter, this time certainly not with the wind. On edge now, she called out. "Hello?"

Out of nowhere, all the sheets suddenly came crashing down around her, tugged off their places and fluttering to the ground like huge over-sized butterflies.

And there, in the middle of the vast sea of her once-clean washing, stood her husband, whole and completely alive.

"Hi honey, I'm home."

Stunned into total shock, she stared, absolutely silent.  
She blinked once. Twice.

Then, she was running towards him, trampling the laundry under her feet as she threw herself at him, hardly believing anything, let alone the strong arms that came around her waist and lifted her into the air, spinning her around.

When he put her down, she eyed him up and down; he looked the same, he smelled the same, he _felt_ the same and she'd missed everything for _so_ long.

So when he smiled that cheeky smile at her, the one she'd missed _so_ much more than she thought (and that was saying something), she rasied her hand and slapped him across the face. Hard.

"Ouch! River, what was that for!?" he yelped, but she never got the chance to answer because she'd already tugged him into her and kissed him hard on the mouth. For a moment, he flailed his arms around, unsure of exactly what was going on, but then they settled on her waist again and she sighed into him, pulling him as close as she physically could.

When they finally separated, she felt something cold on her face and with a start she realised she was crying. He looked at her, immediately worried, but she cut him off.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me again," she said, eyes blazing. "I thought you were dead."

He looked sheepishly at her, still with his arms wound around her waist, before opening his mouth. "Sorry," he said earnestly.

"Sorry? I thought I'd seen you for the last time _ten months ago_, that I would never get to talk to you again, never get to see you again, and I get a 'sorry?'" she said, a dangerous mixture of furious and felicific. "Ooh, I hate you!" she exclaimed.

"No, you don't," he reminded her, grinning again as he looked down into his wife's face.

"No, I don't, and you're damn lucky about that," she said, a smile cracking the edges of her own mouth. Even as she looked at him she could feel that terrible hole inside her shrinking down and down, until it vanished and she could feel nothing but elation lifting her from her toes to the very top curl on her head.

"I certainly am; not many wives assault, kiss and yell at their husbands when they unexpectedly return from the dead," he said, eyes dancing at her, thrilled simply by her physical presence.

"Well, you must have gotten lucky, then."

"I rather think I did," he said, bopping her on the nose. "You're quite nice, too."

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me."

So she did, tugging him closer and kissing him again, lighter than she'd ever been in her life and sure he felt exactly the same.


	2. 1996

**1996**

* * *

River immersed herself in the warm bath gladly, letting out a sigh of relief as her muscles relaxed instantly. She pulled her hair up, off her face, securing it with an industrial hair tie as she sank yet further into the bubbles. After a long, difficult day involving marking, yelling at her students and a rather large setback involving one clumsy idiot who got a bit too close to the artifacts, it was lovely to just lie back and relax. She could feel the stresses of the day falling away with each wave of the water around her body and she hummed contentedly.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the edge of the bath, wondering idly when John would get home from his lab. It was quite likely he would be late, given his recent 'breakthrough' with that sonic thing he was working on. She smiled a little at that, remembering him telling her excitedly over dinner yesterday about the current developments and how he was so close to a new discovery he could hardly sit still. That winded up being an entirely accurate assessment, as he'd promptly spilt noodles everywhere with his next mindless flail. Idiot.

Smiling contentedly, she reached for her favourite soap on the shelf. It was primarily scented with lemon, but somehow it smelt lightly of cinnamon too, which she adored. Languorously, she washed herself down, carefully scrubbing at the dirt that had come with her trip to the restoration department that evening. Really it was obscene how _dirty_ she was – she grinned wryly at that description, filing it away for later use – but she supposed that it was no small wonder, given that dolt Ian had knocked over the priceless ancient Egyptian vase and had then sprayed dust and dirt _everywhere_. She clenched her jaw, rolling her eyes again before turning her attention back to relaxing.  
Relaxing.  
Breathing slowly in and slowly out again, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander.

It was marvelous, actually, to just lie in the bubbly water without a worry in the world. She must remember to do it more often. In fact, she should order John to try it too – it'd do him some good. She'd probably persuade him on the condition that they do it together. She smirked at that, eyes still closed, imagining his face.

An unknown amount of time later, just when she'd had to reheat the water a little, the rattle of keys at the door let her know John was home. She heard the door creak open and then bang loudly into the hall wall – god, how many times must she tell him he doesn't need to _force_ the thing – as he clumped inside noisily. The timing was surprising; she wasn't expecting him for at least another hour, well after the sun had gone down. But, as it were, the sun was still streaming though the high bathroom window, falling warmly across her face.

From the hallway, she heard him call out. "Hi honey, I'm home."

Smiling at the phrase, she called back "Hello, sweetie."

There was another loud bang from the corridor, followed by a worrying '_bother_!' River squeezed her eyes shut and hoped her Venetian glass had escaped unscathed.

"River! Where are you?"

She grinned at his yell, hearing him wander about the house, searching cluelessly.

"In the bathroom, honey," she called back.

She heard his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor as he walked up the hall towards her voice. It was amazing, really, how much she could tell from just his gait; he was tired, but still characteristically energetic (as always). He bounded into the room, whipping his head around as he looked for her – of course, he was facing completely the wrong way.

"Down here, darling," she said, amused. He started, turning away from the washing-machine and clapping a hand over his eyes when he spotted her.

"River!" he exclaimed, momentarily shocked. "You're - you're in the _bath_!"

She giggled, a low chuckle deep in her throat. "Yes, sweetie. Naked too – fancy that."

He removed his hand slowly, peeking between his fingers at her. She rolled her eyes at him, smiling fondly – honestly, there were still bubbles all over the water; he couldn't even see a thing. "Is there a problem with that," she asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"No. I – no. There's not. Not in the slightest. Just gave me a bit of a shock, that's all," he stuttered, removing his hand and letting it flop by his side. She rolled her eyes again.

"You'd think you were a school-boy, the way you're acting. Not a married man who so regularly proves his virility in the bedroom," she teased, drawing out the last sentence intentionally and watching his reaction.

It was exactly as she'd expected. He lost the slightly shocked, pink-cheeked expression and drew himself up, tugging on the lapels of the ridiculous tweed jacket he insisted on wearing every day, smiling smugly. "Well, Doctor Song, what did you expect?" His ears were still slightly red, she noted with glee – honestly, she enjoyed teasing him far too much than was probably fair.

But they'd never played fair anyway. Where was the fun in that?

"What I expected and what I received were two very different things," she said, raising one leg out of the bath absent-mindedly, letting the warm water cascade off her smooth skin. He glared at her, crease between his eyebrows deepening as he processed her words. She chuckled again, before taking pity on him. "In a good way, sweetie. Trust me."

He chortled smugly again, and River returned her attention to relaxing against the side of the bath.

"Did you have a good day, dear?" he nonchalantly asked her, taking a step forward.

"Hmmm, yes and no. One of the idiot students broke a priceless vase this morning -" John sighed sympathetically. "- and I marked some truly abysmal papers. But I've a feeling my day might just get better _now_." Her voice dropped an octave and she opened one eye a crack to wink at him. "You?"

"I broke a vial at the lab. A month's work. Martha was furious," he admitted sheepishly. River tutted, unsurprised but compassionate.

"How's the sonic going?" she asked, reaching forward to scrub lightly between her toes, careful to ensure he could only see her back, grinning naughtily when her face was out of sight.

"Good, good," he said, sounding momentarily distracted. She heard him take another step forward. "I'm bloody exhausted, though. Could do with some relaxation."

She smirked at his suggestion. "Well, you ought to have a bath. Terribly calming things, they are, I assure you." Swiveling her head, she smiled suggestively at him, wiggling her eyebrows as she surveyed him top to toe.

He nodded, mock-sage expression playing across his face. "That sounds like a good plan."

"A very good plan," she agreed. He waited and she almost rolled her eyes again. "Come on." Her hand patted the thick bubbles atop the bubbly water, sending little ripples out across the tub. "Get a towel and jump in. Mind you, I'm not sure how … _relaxing_ it'll be."

She laughed as his jacket hit the floor in record time, followed hastily by his shirt and trousers. He carelessly threw one of their deep blue towels on the stool where her own sat, motioning for her to move over. She did so, smiling at him as he disposed of the last vestiges of his clothing. He sighed at the warm temperature of the water, sliding into the bubbly bath contentedly, folding his long limbs and wrapping one arm around River's shoulder as she leaned into him.

"Mmm," she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder and shuffling into him, sliding her smooth skin across his.

"This is nice," he said after a long pause. "I should have a bath more often, I think. Baths are cool. Although only when they're filled with bubbles like this. And maybe a rubber duck – I _always_ wanted one of those-"

"Sweetie?"

"Yes?"

"Either shut up and relax or get out."

"Yes dear."

They lay there happily for a while, River's eyes shut once more and John shuffling every few moments – insufferable _fidgeter_ that he was – trying to bend his long legs into the most comfortable position.

"Are you going to lie still?" hissed River after he sloshed a particularly large wave of water out of the bath and all over the floor.

"You know I have trouble being still. And, to be fair, the way you said relaxing didn't imply a lot of _relaxing _in the first place," he protested and she smirked in spite of herself.

"Oh, if _that's_ what you want, you should've said."

With that, she leaned over and kissed him hungrily, turning her body until it was pressed into his side and her chest slid across his. He moaned delightedly, running his tongue along her lips, which parted instantly against his. One of his hands ghosted lightly up her back, trailing little white bubbles across her muscles as he pulled her closer and she sighed into him.

Eventually, they broke apart, and he kissed lightly along her jaw while she relaxed back and he leant over her. His lips brushed her ear and she gasped lightly. "Shut your eyes," he whispered quietly, voice low enough to make her shudder. He pulled back and she frowned at him, closed eyes cross at the loss of contact.

Suddenly, a huge glob of bubbles flew unceremoniously into her face. She spluttered loudly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand only to see John grinning audaciously at her, his hand filled with a dollop of the offending foam. "Oh, I _hate_ you!" she yelled, smacking his arm.

"No you don't!" he replied cheekily, shutting his eyes and bringing his arms up to shield his face instantly as he waited for a torrent of bubbly water to suddenly dump on his head.  
None came.

Instead, River quickly slid away from him, standing up rapidly and letting the water cascade down over her body as she stepped elegantly out of the bath, toes curling into the soft mat. She didn't turn around, knowing he was probably appreciating the view perfectly well on his own. Picking up the towel from the stool, she draped it around her body – deliberately slowly. She heard him make a noise somewhere between satisfaction and irritation, and she knew she had his undivided attention.  
He would _so_ pay for those bubbles.

Slowly and lazily, she began to towel herself dry, rubbing her shoulders lightly and moaning just to frustrate him. She let the towel drop to a tantalising level before yanking it back up again, much to his obvious chagrin. She smirked again, out of his sight as she caught the last droplets of water on her shoulder.

Finally, wrapping herself up and knotting the towel at her chest, she turned to face him. "Something wrong?" she asked innocently, wide eyes laughing at him.

"No. In fact, I was just thinking I'm quite done and relaxed now – ready for something else, perhaps."

Her eyebrows rose at him. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really," he said, pulling the plug and standing up hurriedly.

She eyed him up and down, mouth twisting into an amused line. He stepped towards her, reaching for the towel lying on the stool, but before he could reach it, she twisted around and grabbed it, flicking it out of his arms' width.

"River! That's _my_ towel!" he said indignantly, making a wild grab for it as she darted out of his reach and over to the door.

"Well then, you'd better come and get it, _sweetie_," she taunted, sing-song voice laughing. He made another lunge towards her, but she was already off and running, out the bathroom door, down the hall and into their bedroom, fast and graceful as ever. She could hear his wet feet slapping on the floor behind her, and she made a dive for the bed, shrieking madly with mirth. He jumped on top of her, pinning her down. She made a last-ditch effort to beat him, throwing the towel across the room, where it landed messily on the dressing-chair.

"Eurgh! You're all _wet_! Get off me!" she demanded, laughing.

"Never!" he declared, seizing her waist and turning her over so she looked up at him. She was panting heavily from all the laughter, smiling up at him breathlessly. His hair was standing half on-end, but still flopping ridiculously into his eyes.

"I'm still mad at you," she insisted, attempting to look stern. "No funny business until you apologise."

"I'm sorry," he said, blatantly not.

"Liar."

"You love it."

"I do _not_!"

But then his hands were at the towel's knot and she forgot all about everything as he worked.

"Do," he insisted, mouth brushing at her ear once more.

"Maybe a little," she breathed. "Now shut up."

He complied, tossing her towel carelessly across the room.

"Now, Doctor Song, what were you saying about _relaxing_?"


End file.
